all family business,’ he replied, as the cab pulled over to the kerb and came to a halt. ‘One way or another. We’re here.’
‘Where?’ India glanced out at the side street, where they had stopped in front of a small restaurant she knew by name, its reputation for good food, and the impossibility of getting a table.
‘I had my secretary book a table for eight o’clock. We’re a little early, but I don’t suppose that’ll be a problem at this time in the evening.’ He climbed from the cab, holding the door for her.
‘Look, I know you said we’d have dinner, but honestly I’ve got a pile of work—’
‘India,’ he said, cutting her short. And the way he used her given name was faintly shocking. Like being touched. ‘I’ve been chasing you around that wretched store all day. I’ve been very, very patient, and you will now do me the courtesy of sitting down and sharing a meal with me. I want to hear about your plans. How you see the future of Claibourne & Farraday.’
‘In my hands,’ she replied, without missing a beat. And the changes she had in mind were not for sharing with Jordan Farraday.
His smile was perfunctory. ‘Humour me, as I’ve humoured you all day, or the shadow deal’s off and you can forget all about me playing follow-my-leader for the rest of the month. Instead I’ll instruct my lawyers to invoke the golden share agreement first thing tomorrow.’
That wretched ‘golden share’… The two per cent controlling interest in the company that was supposed to be handed on, like some Olympic flame, to the oldest male heir. Not this time.
He might be oldest; she was best.
‘In which case,’ he added, just in case she hadn’t got the point, ‘you’ll be out by the end of the week.’
‘You can try,’ she said, not moving. ‘Once the lawyers get involved it could take years.’ Except that would defeat the whole object. She might be in, occupying the seat, but she wouldn’t be able to do a thing. Any move to change the name, change the style, do anything constructive, would be met with legal injunctions. The company would stagnate, wither.
She would surrender before she’d let that happen. She just hoped he didn’t know that.
‘So…’ he said. ‘We both know exactly where we stand. No more pretending to be nice. You have possession of the store and you’ll do anything to keep it. Something that I can’t possibly allow.’ Then, ‘But we still have to eat.’ And he offered her his hand.
Damn! She hadn’t planned on things moving this quickly. A fact she was sure he knew. He knew altogether too much. All day he’d been at her shoulder, stealing the limelight, charming everyone he met, apparently interested in the smallest detail, always asking the right questions.
Always there, just at the corner of her vision, close enough to touch but never quite touching.
She’d tossed her sisters into this situation without a thought as to how they’d cope. She’d just wanted the time it had bought her. The time it had bought her lawyers as they tried to make a case to stop the takeover.
Faced with the reality of spending a month in this man’s company…up close and as personal as it got…she wished she’d listened to their protests.
She wished they were home, so that she could talk to them. Romana had taken time out from her extended honeymoon to e-mail her detailed ideas for the better use of space—ideas that she’d wasted no time in implementing. And Flora had sent back wonderful cloth, jewellery and design sketches, as well as a report for the travel department on Saraminda.
Neither of them had offered advice on dealing with a Farraday male. Maybe because they knew their solution could never be hers.
She’d never felt so alone in her life.
When she still hesitated, he let his hand drop and said, ‘If you doubt that I can do it, I’ll tell the driver to take you back to the store. But I suggest you clear your desk while you’re there.’
She could scarcely believe her ears. ‘You’re threatening me?’
‘No, India. I don’t make threats to get what I want. What I’m doing is giving you a month of my time in which to convince me that you’re the only person in the world who can run Claibourne & Farraday.’
‘Why?’ The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. ‘Why are you doing that?’
‘Giving you a month of my time?’
‘Yes. What’s in it for you?’
‘Well, let’s see. I’m doing it because your lawyers requested it and my lawyers could see no disadvantage. I’m taking the opportunity to familiarise myself with the store. Get to know the senior staff.’ She wished she hadn’t asked. He was using the time she’d given him to infiltrate himself into the store, smooth the transition… ‘What I’m doing is bending over backwards to be reasonable, so that if we do end up in a court battle I’ll impress their Lordships as a reasonable man who’s done everything asked.’ And he smiled. ‘Does that answer your question?’
His answer was so smooth, so pat. So…reasonable! She couldn’t fault him. Which meant she’d just have to swallow her pride and play nice.
‘Yes, well, I’ve never suggested I’m the only person in the world who can run the store, JD,’ she said, finally joining him on the pavement. If he was going to make free with her name, without so much as a by-you-leave, she certainly wasn’t going to keep calling him Mr Farraday. As if he were the boss and she were his underling. They were equals. As he turned from paying the driver, she dredged up a smile. ‘Just the best.’
‘Jordan,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘My staff call me JD. You and I are equals.’ Equals? Could he read her mind? ‘Partners. I’d rather you called me by my name.’ He lifted his brows, encouraging her to give it a try.
‘Jordan?’ she offered.
He lifted the corner of his mouth in a wry smile. ‘That wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
Patronising oaf. She didn’t believe for one minute that he considered her his equal, but she’d do her level best to change his mind—and if that involved supping with the devil, she’d do it. She put a little more effort into her smile as he placed his hand beneath her elbow—did he feel her jump as he touched her?—pushed open the restaurant door and held it for her.
‘It’s curious that we’re both named after countries, don’t you think?’ he said, once they were seated at a quiet table.
She resisted the temptation to point out that while he was named after a very small country she was named after a sub-continent. ‘My father met my mother in India,’ she said, perusing the menu. ‘Hence the name. It’s something of a family tradition. My father took his second wife to Florence for their honeymoon, and met his third in Rome on a trip to the fashion shows. She was a model. Hence Flora and Romana.’
‘How fortunate he didn’t have boys.’
She glanced up. ‘Well, that’s original.’
